


Lift

by Maiden_of_Asgard



Category: Loki - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Arrogant Coworker Loki, Avenger Loki (Marvel), F/M, HR Should Probably Get Involved TBH, Loki (Marvel) Does What He Wants, Loki Is A Terrible Coworker, POV Second Person, Stark Tower, Stark Tower Shenanigans, TROPETOWN USA, Trapped In Elevator, no y/n
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-05-17 22:24:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14840310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiden_of_Asgard/pseuds/Maiden_of_Asgard
Summary: Working for Stark Industries has its perks, even if your job isn’t particularly glamorous. Free coffee, for one. They have a really solid retirement plan. You get to have your own office, even if it is a little on the small side.Oh, and you get to check out the God of Mischief on the elevator every morning.There’s that, too.{originally a little Tumblr oneshot}





	1. Lift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I saw a gif of Loki’s back that left me *inspired.* And 2nd person POV has always seemed particularly tricky to me, both as a reader and a writer, so I decided that this would be a fun little personal challenge!
> 
> Original post [here](https://maiden-of-asgard.tumblr.com/post/174095524996/lift)! <3

You stare at the space between his shoulder-blades, transfixed. He raises his hand to press the button for his floor - the 13th, same as always - and you frown at the way his muscles flex, tightly encased within his thin shirt, because it _isn’t fair_ that a bad guy is this attractive.

A _former_ bad guy, technically.

And it isn’t like he’d ever notice you, anyway.

You remind yourself that you’re being stupid.

The elevator is crowded, just as it always is at eight o’clock, filled with employees scrambling to make it to their desks on time. They won’t be successful; you know, because you get in the elevator at exactly eight o’clock everyday, and you’re never on time. Not anymore.

Tony Stark isn’t overly strict about things like that, but _everyone_ in the Tower wants to get in his good graces, to be the _perfect_ employee. Everyone, that is, _except_ for Loki Laufeyson. God of Mischief, brother of Thor, former supervillian, and current unwilling Avenger.

And, because the Fates are cruel, the owner of an unfairly-perfect body.

Glancing away, you notice that one of the other women packed into the elevator is giving you a strange look out of the corner of her eye, and you feel heat rush to your cheeks. _Great,_ you tell yourself, _way to be subtle. Good thing you’re just a code monkey and not a spy._

Although really, you know that you’re fairly useless at that, as well; there’s no doubt that Tony Stark could probably write a program to replace your job with ease. In fact, he’d probably already _written_ programs that were advanced enough to write their _own_ programs that could do what you did more efficiently.

Your self-esteem isn’t particularly fantastic.

It’s been three weeks since you accidentally stumbled upon Loki Laufeyson’s odd little routine - the man (or god, or alien, or _whatever_ he was) seemed to delight in coming in _purposefully_ late every single day, just _barely_ enough for it to be noticeable, but not _quite_ egregiously enough for anyone to bother to do anything about it.

After five minutes on the elevator, squashed behind his back and the briefcase of the man standing behind you, you’d decided to relax your pace a bit in the mornings. It couldn’t hurt, could it? It wasn’t like you were gunning for any promotions, anyway.

And how many people could say that they shared the elevator with an honest-to-God _god_ every morning at work? Not many. You figured you might as well consider it one of the perks of working for Stark Industries.

Though, you _did_ have a sneaking suspicion that you were being a huge creep. It was _weird,_ right? Aligning your morning schedule just to get a good look at the coworker most likely to go postal and kill everybody someday?

You catch yourself staring again, this time at… _well,_ at his ass, and you tear your gaze away as soon as you realize it, mortified. _Oh God, I’m an idiot._

The elevator makes it to another floor, and a few people squeeze in and out; you’re extremely thankful for it, because it’s actually a remarkably quick trip up to the 13th floor when it isn’t having to stop at every single level.

He’s never actually looked at you, you’re relatively certain. Three weeks of sharing this elevator with him, and you could probably paint him from memory - his back, at least - but you doubt that he could even pick your face out of a lineup.

Glancing around the relatively spacious box the two of you currently shared with a half-dozen other people, you try to think of something else, but you notice that the woman from before is giving you the side-eye again.

_Please, don’t let her work with him. Please don’t let her tell him that some random girl is checking him out._ And then, also the thought: _Please don’t let her be with HR._

That’s the last thing you need, to sit through a PowerPoint presentation about the dangers of ogling your dangerous, superpowered colleagues. Biting your lip, you turn your gaze forward again. You have to stop doing this. It probably isn’t healthy.

By the time the elevator reaches the tenth floor, there are only three people left: you, the woman who’s _definitely_ judging your taste in men, and Loki, God of Casualwear. It’s a little surprising - Stark Tower is massive, and usually you have more company up to the higher levels where your tiny office is stashed away.

Suddenly, somewhere just between the 11th and 12th floors, the elevator jerks to a sudden halt. A tiny cry of surprise escapes you… and then immediately, before you have a chance to really even react, something wraps around your neck and yanks you backwards.

_That woman,_ you think, mind frantically racing. _What-?_

But you don’t have time to complete the thought, because the chest that your back is now pressed against is _much_ too hard and broad to be that of the petite woman who’d been watching you.

And then, a wide, mocking smile on his face, the god in front of you _finally_ turns around and actually _looks_ at you, then vanishes into thin air.

You shriek, terrified, and the arm around your neck tightens.

_“Quiet,”_ a low voice whispers in your ear, and your breath hitches. _It’s him._ That voice - you’d know it anywhere, even though you’d only overhead him speaking to others in passing.

“You have been watching me, mortal,” he says, “for _weeks._ Why?”

The words won’t come, and it seems very likely that you’re about to die in an elevator, running late to work. It doesn’t sound very glamorous. This is what you get for thinking bad guys are cute. And to _think_ that you’d been so afraid just to tap on his shoulder and ask him if he wanted coffee. Maybe you should’ve risked it. It couldn’t have possibly gone any worse than this.

“Well?” he presses, and the world starts to go a little spotty. “Are you with SHIELD? Or are you a foreign operative?”

“I’m a programmer,” you manage to wheeze, oddly _flattered_ by the idea that he thinks you could be some sort of super secret undercover agent. You decide that the panic is making you a bit delirious, and a tingling sort of numbness races through your veins. If you could properly _breathe,_ you’d most likely be hyperventilating.

Then, the grip relaxes slightly, and you gasp for air. “And?”

“And, that’s it. I work on the 22nd floor. I code all day. That’s it, I swear.”

“Is that so?”

There’s a hand on your hip now, and his voice is somewhere between irritated and amused, and _yes,_ there is most _definitely_ a risk of hyperventilation.

“Yes.”

“You are not an intelligence operative?” he asks slowly, a hint of suspicion in his tone.

“No. _Please-“_

“Quiet,” he orders again, and your jaw snaps shut. “Not an intelligence operative, hmm? Just an ordinary _mortal,_ then.”

He makes it sound like an insult, condescension dripping from his words, and your cheeks heat.

“Just an ordinary mortal,” you agree, trying to sound reassuring. It comes out more as a whine.

“Then _why,_ little mortal, have you been watching me with such… intent?”

Eyes squeezing closed, your blush deepens as his fingers dig into your hip. _Surely_ someone must’ve noticed that the elevator was stuck? Wasn’t that the whole point of this damned Tower, that everything was perfect and futuristic and _safe?_

“You… you’re famous,” you manage to say. “You almost destroyed the city. And you’re a _god.”_

“Yes,” Loki replies, clearly amused now. “Yes, I am.” Thinking perhaps that the whole misunderstanding is now sorted, you are dismayed when his grip remains firm. “And you,” he continues, “you are an _ardent_ devotee, is that it?”

“I- I just…” You stammer, mortified, as he deftly plucks your ID badge from your pocket and reads your name aloud.

“You have a _very_ low security clearance,” he comments, waving the badge in front of your face, seeming to relish the opportunity to rub your nose in your own insignificance. “I likely should not even be speaking to you. They like to keep me on a _tight_ leash, you know.”

His arm flexes slightly as he says it, and you decide that right now would be a _really_ convenient time to simply die of embarrassment, before things can get any worse.

“Okay,” you mumble awkwardly, and you curse yourself for your complete lack of grace as he laughs, his breath tickling your ear.

“But I _do_ enjoy breaking the rules from time to time.”

_Oh, God._

How long has it been? A few minutes? More? Less? Is the security camera still working? _Probably not._

“Don’t be afraid,” he says then, but you are very, _very_ afraid, because the magical, handsome, would-be _conqueror of Earth_ has you in a chokehold in a stuck elevator, and he’s either going to kill you or you’re going to make a complete fool of yourself. At this point, you aren’t sure which would be worse. “Gods appreciate admiration, little mortal. It gives us _power.”_

Wait - _literally?_ You file that little tidbit away to ask someone else about later - probably someone with a higher security clearance. You may just be the tiniest bit bitter about that particular jab.

“Can I go now?” you ask, finally managing to string together a coherent sentence. “I’m late for work.”

Loki scoffs, sliding your ID badge back into your pocket, and his hand returns to your hip.

_Okay, so he’s not letting go. That’s cool. Everything’s cool._

Everything is _not_ cool.

“I have been _terribly_ bored,” he says, bizarrely casual, as if this is a perfectly normal conversation in a perfectly normal situation.

_He’s crazy._ But you’d already known that, hadn’t you? _Everyone_ knew that. And you’d gone and made yourself a target, anyway, staring at him like some sort of moonstruck idiot. _Of course_ he would notice - ancient warrior princes wouldn’t live to _be_ ancient if they weren’t any good at keeping an eye on their surroundings.

The forearm pressed against your windpipe slides away, replaced by his hand, long fingers wrapping around your throat. It’s _obviously_ a threatening gesture, and it _shouldn’t_ make a little buzz of heat spark across your skin, but it does, and you wonder if maybe your fascination with bad guys has gone a _bit_ too far.

_It’s all fun and games ‘til you get strangled in an elevator._

Apparently your panicky side has a sense of humor.

“Can I go?” you try again, trying to gently shift away from him. “Please?”

The fingers around your neck squeeze gently, and a little gasp escapes you. Loki lets out a little hum, apparently intrigued by your response, and you stare straight ahead at the elevator door, desperately praying for it to open, as the hand on your hip begins to trail up your waist.

Somehow, the idea of him discovering that you’re inexplicably turned on by him nearly murdering you in an elevator seems like a much worse prospect than him _actually_ murdering you in an elevator. At least the second option is less humiliating.

His lips are dangerously close to your ear then, and your breath catches in your throat. “I have a much _better_ idea,” he begins, and _oh God,_ people don’t actually _swoon_ in real life, do they? That’s just a thing in stupid sappy romance stories, _right?_ Because you’re pretty sure that you can feel his voice vibrating all the way down to your bones, deep and silky and promising danger.

_“FROSTY!”_ Tony Stark’s voice suddenly crackles through the speaker, impatient and irate. “You better not be using your magic mumbo-jumbo to gunk up my tech just because you and Bruce had a fight over the coffee machine, _do you hear me?_ If I have to suit up and come down there to _pry_ you out and drag you to work, then _by God-”_

The boss’s tirade is cut off abruptly as Loki’s hand leaves your throat, waving dismissively at the intercom, which sizzles and drips silver; he’d just _melted_ the inside of the speaker, you realize, and your heart pounds at the realization that he easily might’ve done the same to you.

“Duty calls,” he sighs dramatically, giving your waist one final squeeze as he steps around you, the elevator suddenly jerking back to life with so much force that you nearly stumble. It reaches the 13th floor almost immediately, and he turns to face you as you shakily attempt to regain your composure. “I am not _finished_ with you, girl,” he informs you with a worryingly fox-like grin, and then he steps out of the elevator with all of his usual gracefulness, as if nothing out of the ordinary had ever occurred, strolling away as the doors slide closed behind him.

_Oh, God._ Clutching your chest, you try to reconcile the strange mixture of panic and arousal, _extremely_ concerned that they seem to be coexisting so easily. You fix the collar of your blouse, digging your fingers in your pocket to grasp your ID badge. _He knows my name now. And my job. And my floor._ Hyperventilation begins to seem like a likely possibility once more.

You _really_ need to start getting to work on time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gif in question:


	2. Escalate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s best to keep a low profile; that’s what you tell yourself, at least. Yes, if you want to keep your dignity and your job, you should probably avoid Loki Laufeyson altogether. 
> 
> Unfortunately, that little encounter on the elevator seems to have piqued his curiosity. 
> 
> And a curious Loki is not easily distracted.

Waking up early has never been one of your favorite things, but you’ve been roughing it out for the past week. You tell yourself it’s because you’ve got a big project to work on - but really, it’s because you’re trying to avoid  _ him.  _

Getting to work early will look good on your employee evaluation, anyway. It’s all for the best. You should probably be thankful that he didn’t report you for… something. What  _ could _ he report you for, actually? Being a creep? Or maybe  _ you  _ should’ve reported  _ him.  _ He  _ did _ break the elevator and feel you up. 

Not that you entirely minded. 

Besides, he’s a lot higher up on the totem pole of importance than  _ you.  _ You, with your  _ low security clearance _ and non-essential skill set. It would probably be a  _ terrible _ idea to try to start something with the God of Lies. 

It’s Friday, and you are  _ exhausted.  _ Three people on your team have managed to get sick at the same time, and you’re picking up the slack. You don’t have anywhere  _ better _ to be anyway, you suppose. At least Stark Industries has free snacks. Your apartment is sadly devoid of snacks. 

Normally, you try to bring your lunch from home, but you haven’t bothered the last few days, and the grumbling of your stomach prompts you to head downstairs to the food court for something to eat. The food court is wide and well-lit, with towering windows several floors high. It’s actually  _ nice,  _ you decide, to get out of your cube for a while. 

Halfway down the escalator, your skin begins to prickle, and you tense; carefully, you turn and glance to the side. 

It’s him. 

He’s watching you from the escalator next to yours, ascending as you descend. The expression on his face is  _ extremely  _ unsettling. Loki Laufeyson seems to take great delight in being unsettling. 

And then, with horrifying ease, he simply  _ vaults _ over the railing of his escalator, landing smoothly not two steps behind you. You jerk around quickly, staring straight ahead; maybe if you try hard enough, you can pretend that he isn’t there, and that people aren’t sneaking glances. 

It’s fortunate that most of the ‘regular’ employees of Stark Industries are terrified of him, or there would probably be a lot more open staring. 

_ “Mortal,” _ he says, voice low and silky, and a litany of curses run though your head as you realize that he’s moved to the step  _ directly  _ behind yours. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

You swallow, afraid to respond, watching each step ahead of you disappear into the floor, counting down the seconds until you can escape what has got to be the longest escalator ride of your life. 

His fingertips brush down your spine, trailing across the small of your back, and you shiver. “Haven’t you?”

“No,” you croak.  _ Almost there.  _ Why is he doing this in the middle of the  _ freaking _ food court? You’re probably about to get fired, or worse. 

_ “Lies.”  _ He sounds delighted. “But do continue. I  _ adore _ it when mortals believe that they can lie to me.  _ ‘Cat and mouse _ ’ is what this game is called on Midgard, yes?”

“I’m  _ not _ playing a game,” you gasp as his fingers slide down your hip, and just then, the last person in front of you steps off of the escalator. You bolt towards freedom. 

Loki follows. 

“Is that what you think, sweetling?” 

_ Oh God, he’s using diminutives now. Old-timey ones.  _ This can’t bode well. You don’t turn around, afraid he’ll see your flushed cheeks. Maybe he’ll just disappear. 

“Stop,” he orders, slightly amused, and you nearly fall as your feet suddenly freeze to the floor. Loki looks terribly,  _ horrifically _ smug as he steps in front of you, his hands clasped behind his back. 

You try to remain calm, though your instincts are screaming for you to panic. After all, you don’t want to cause a scene, do you? 

He smiles, and your heart thuds, blood surging through your veins suddenly in what  _ should _ be fear, but is probably something else. His clothes fit him too well, you decide. That’s  _ definitely _ part of the problem. 

“You remind me of a little doe,” he says, “freezing wide-eyed in fear and then bounding away. I  _ like _ this.” He’s closer, then, and you’re suddenly wondering how the physics of fainting will work if your feet remain stuck to the floor. “I have not been hunting in a long time, mortal.”

_ That  _ is certainly a worrisome statement, and you begin to fear that he’s actually considering the appeal of  _ literally  _ hunting you like an animal. Based on the stories you’ve heard, it wouldn’t be that out-of-character. 

“Can I go, please? I need to get lunch.”

_ Nice job,  _ you congratulate yourself.  _ You actually said something intelligible.  _ You decide it’s best to overlook the fact that your voice shook; progress is progress, after all. 

His eyes glitter. “Perhaps we should retire somewhere more  _ private.” _

_ Oh, no.  _

Now intelligibility is far beyond your grasp. “Low security clearance,” you manage to mumble, face crimson. 

Loki laughs. “Entertaining little creature, aren’t you?”

You don’t know what he expects you to say to that. He’s probably just talking to himself, anyway; it’s  _ sincerely _ doubtful that he’s really listening for your response. 

Before he can continue with his one-sided dialogue, however, there’s a new arrival. “Dr. Banner,” you squeak, mortified. You know who he  _ is,  _ of course, though you’ve never actually met him before; he’s one of the  _ special _ people, just like Loki. An  _ Avenger.  _

And you’re  _ not  _ one of the ‘special people,’ but now  _ two _ of them have you trapped out in the middle of the floor. If people weren’t paying attention before, they certainly are now. 

Dr. Banner smiles at you, though it’s a bit terse. “Time to get back to work, Loki.”

Sighing dramatically, Loki rolls his eyes.  _ “Bruce _ here doesn’t like it when I try to have fun,” he says. 

_ “No one _ likes it when you try to have ‘fun.’”

“This one likes it. Don’t you, darling?” He looks to you expectantly, amusement in his eyes, and Dr. Banner turns to you, too. 

This is  _ way _ too much pressure.  _ This  _ is why you took a job that was supposed to require minimal human interaction. “Um… I’m getting lunch?”

_ Idiot, idiot. Why _ did you make it sound like a  _ question? _ And you didn’t even answer Loki; he’s going to be pissed about that, probably. Or maybe he didn’t expect you to answer in the first place. 

With him, it’s hard to tell. 

Dr. Banner seems to understand, though. “Let her go, Loki,” he says, voice lowered. Fortunately for you, he seems to hate being the center of attention, too. 

“Very well.” He’s clearly irritated now, which likely does  _ not _ bode well for you. Subtly, you wiggle your toes, relieved to find that you’re free to move again. Leaning close as he follows Dr. Banner away, he whispers, “Keep running, little mouse,” in your ear, barely breaking his stride. 

Then, he’s gone. 

Your appetite is mostly nonexistent after that bizarre little encounter, but you force yourself to pick up something, anyway.  _ Act normal, _ you tell yourself.  _ Pray that you aren’t about to lose your job.  _

And definitely,  _ definitely _ don’t think about the way Loki’s words make your pulse pound.

 

* * *

 

You work late that night, long after most of the other employees on your floor have headed home or out to the bars to start the weekend early. It’s best if you keep busy, in your opinion; if you go home, you’re liable to start daydreaming about  _ him. _

There’s a little lounge on your floor, and that’s where you head now, eager for a late-evening coffee. You promised yourself last month you’d cut back on the caffeine, but so far, you haven’t made much progress. 

It’s quiet and empty; you like it like this. Honestly, that’s one of the main reasons you work late. You enjoy the peacefulness, and you can turn your music up and work at your own pace. It’s pretty cool to basically have an entire floor of Stark Tower to yourself. 

Though, considering recent circumstances, you probably should be a little more cautious. Unfortunately, this thought doesn’t occur to you until the door of the break room snaps shut behind you, the lights suddenly flickering out. 

You aren’t a huge fan of the dark, or of loud, unexpected noises, and you shriek. The lights return, and Loki stands in front of the door, snickering. 

You’ve heard that Dr. Jane Foster slapped him once. You wish you had the nerve to try it. 

“Why are  _ you _ here?” you blurt instead. It’s a little rude, sure, but you’re pretty sure that the two of you are past the point of social niceties.

Especially since he looks like he’s about to  _ eat  _ you. 

“The coffee machine on my floor is  _ tragically _ out-of-order,” Loki says, spreading his hands in a gesture of innocence. He starts to move towards you, and you ease back, running into the counter almost immediately. 

_ Crap.  _

“Um… and you came all the way up here?”

“Naturally.” There’s almost  _ no _ distance between the two of you now, and you have to actually  _ look up  _ at him.  _ Frustrating.  _ He must see it in your eyes, because he smiles down at you. “You make for  _ very _ easy prey.”

Heat rushes to your face.  _ Talk about rude.  _

_ “Earth girls  _ aren’t _ easy,”  _ you want to snap, but you can’t find the words. It’s probably for the best; you doubt he’d get the reference. Instead, you eyeball the coffee pot, wondering if scalding a wayward Avenger would get you into  _ too _ much trouble. 

His eyes narrow slightly. “Try it, mortal. I  _ dare _ you.”

_ Well, damn. _ Either he can read minds or you aren’t very subtle. You really hope he can’t read minds, because this close proximity is doing things to you that you’d  _ really _ rather keep hidden. 

_ God,  _ he’s tall. Tall and fit and  _ unf,  _ if only he wasn’t a barely-stable alien warrior-prince. A warrior-prince who’s declared his intent to hunt you down like an animal, and based on the look in his eyes, it seems he thinks he’s succeeded. 

And then his arms are on either side of you, leaning against the countertop as he casually traps you in place. 

You stop breathing. 

Loki’s lips press against your forehead. “I win.”

Then you’re hoisted onto the countertop before you can blink, his mouth on your neck and his hands…  _ God, _ it feels like his hands are  _ everywhere.  _

It seems like you’re  _ probably _ about to get ravished, if the smut you read on your phone under the covers at night is anything to go by. Your heart pounds - you’ve never been ravished before. In fact, you’ve never done much of  _ anything  _ before. 

“Wait,” you protest weakly, because now his fingers have found the buttons of your blouse, which he is deftly unfastening as he presses between your thighs. “I don’t… I haven’t…”

He peels the fabric away, baring your shoulders and chest, and you cringe;  _ why _ couldn’t you have been wearing a nicer bra on  _ today _ of all days?

But as mortified as you are, Loki’s gloating, pleased expression still sends heat rushing between your thighs. “No? I can be gentle.” He grins. “Relatively.”

_ Oh. Oh, no.  _

That  _ shouldn’t _ make your hips rock slightly to press against him, but it does. You’re screwed. Figuratively. 

And in about ten seconds, it’s probably going to be  _ literally,  _ too. 

“Touch me.” 

It’s an order that, quite frankly, you have no desire to ignore; you’ve always considered yourself fairly level-headed, but the thought of actually getting your hands on him overrides rationality. 

Maybe you aren’t as risk-averse as you thought. Maybe the fact that you went out of your way to stare at your villainous coworker’s back on the elevator for three straight weeks should have been a clue. 

He continues nipping at your throat -  _ possessive,  _ you think - and you slide your hands around his back, oddly elated by the feel of hard muscle beneath your fingertips, only separated by a thin layer of fabric. 

You gasp as his teeth sink into your neck, and his hands are around your waist now, oddly chill against your bare skin. Maybe it’s just because you feel like you’re catching on fire. 

Just as your hazy mind begins to consider the notion that being ravished by a crazy magical antihero maybe isn’t such a  _ terrible _ idea after all, there’s a furious beating on the door. You jump, and Loki stills, leaning back with a murderous gleam in his eye. 

“Open up, Loki!” 

That voice… it’s Mr. Stark. The blood drains from your face, and you frantically start to re-button your shirt with shaking fingers. 

It would be a  _ lot  _ easier if Loki would move his hands from your waist. If anything, his grip has tightened. 

“Banner said you left the lab over an hour ago, and I  _ know _ you’re up here. I don’t know  _ why _ you think you can skulk away and hide when every security camera in the damned Tower is on you 24/7.”

Face like stone, Loki drags you from the countertop with a sudden jerk and sets you on your feet; your legs feel like jelly. 

“And so we play on, dýrling,” he says, and then he turns and stalks towards the door. 

He barely opens it, but it’s enough; just before it slams shut behind him, you see Tony Stark’s startled face catching sight of you through the gap.

_ Crap. Crap crap crap.  _

You probably just lost your job.


	3. Freefall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone knows that making out with a coworker in the break room is a terrible idea. Everyone. It’s basically “Being A Good Employee 101.”
> 
> But the God of Lies has already ruined any chance you might’ve had to ever become Employee of the Month, so when he summons you to his office...
> 
> Well, there’s really no reason for you not to go, is there?

High collars and concealer have been your best friends for the last few days. Loki, possessive _ass_ that he apparently is, left an impressive array of bruises all down your neck.

You try to avoid admitting to yourself that you kind of… _like_ them. After all, an actual _god_ apparently finds you appealing enough to track down and torment. It’s kind of flattering, in a weird, concerning sort of way.

And who are you to judge? You’ve been creeping on him for weeks; most people would probably consider that pretty weird, too.

It was a bit of a surprise when you came back to work on Monday to find that you still have a job. You’re absolutely, _positively_ certain that Mr. Stark saw how disheveled you were when he came to collect Loki from your break room - it couldn’t be too hard to figure out what had been happening.

Still, days later, nothing has happened… in some ways, it makes you nervous, because you feel like you’re waiting for the ax to fall.

And you haven’t seen the God of Mischief since he left you breathless in the break room.

That is why, when your team’s secretary drops by your cube and says that you’re needed on the 13th floor, your stomach feels like it’s doing flips.

“Oh. Did they say why?” you ask, trying to sound casual.

“Something about code, I dunno.” She shrugs, clearly disinterested. “Mr. Laufeyson’s office.”

_Mr. Laufeyson’s office._

What a surreal phrase _that_ was - Loki, God of Lies and would-be conqueror of New York, now reduced to… a white collar tech industry employee.

Well, _and_ an Avenger, too.

You try to calm your nerves as you head to the elevator, telling yourself that there could be a totally-acceptable, work-appropriate reason for this summons. Because this _clearly_ is a summons - he’s acting like he’s some kind of _royalty,_ and that you’re…

 _Oh,_ you think, your mental tirade coming to a sudden halt; you guess he kinda _is_ royalty.

The elevator doors slide open, and you realize you’re on the edge of hyperventilation once again. That probably isn’t a very promising sign. You’re probably going to get in trouble for this. But then, since he apparently put in an actual work request, you’d also risk getting in trouble if you _didn’t_ show up...

It isn’t very difficult to find his office, because it turns out that the 13th floor is mostly lab space, and there’s a handy directory on the wall right next to the elevator. The whole place is sleek, significantly more high-tech than your floor. You have a distinct feeling that you _really_ aren't supposed to be here.

The door slides open on its own as you stand there trying to gather your nerve to knock, and you jump, startled. His office is… odd. It looks like a strange, modernized version of what you imagine an office in the Middle Ages might look like, with lots of wood and metal and glass and - bizarrely enough - _tapestries._

And there he sits, behind a massive wooden desk, so _excessively_ out-of-place in this polished, shiny skyscraper, because today it seems he’s decided to go full Asgardian-style, with a tunic and what appears to be a leather vest.

_What the hell._

That stupid, smug look is on his face, like this is all some kind of big joke. “Come in,” he says, leaning back in his chair, chin slightly raised as he watches you with half-lidded eyes.

Yeah, he’s definitely rocking the ‘detached snob’ vibe today.

The door closes behind you on its own, causing you to jump again, and Loki smiles and stands.

 _Well, damn._ He’s wearing leather pants, too. You mentally add that to your list of things that you’re apparently in to. This is already not going well.

It takes him all of three steps to reach you, and you curse his long legs. _Beautiful, muscular long legs that are encased rather nicely in leather,_ your mind reminds you.

Your mind is _not_ very helpful.

“You needed something?” you manage to ask, hoping that he can’t see your blush. Maybe if you’re professional, this will all be over quickly and you can retreat to your cube. “Mr. Laufeyson?”

He grins. “And _still_ you try to run from me, even when you came at my call so nicely. I can practically _taste_ your turmoil.” Then his hands are on your waist, and you stop breathing entirely as he leans down, his lips beside your ear. “The only thing I _need_ from you, mortal, is to continue what we’ve already begun.”

_Oh, no._

You try to run - or at least, you tell yourself that you’re trying to run. In reality, you’re actually angling towards him.

 _Oh, no._ And then, another hazy thought filters through your rapidly-swirling mind: _He smells nice._

“I do, do I?”

 _Damn it._ Did you really say that out loud? You’re a _disgrace,_ and now Loki is smiling like a fox in the henhouse, pulling lightly on your waist as he steps backwards toward his desk, luring you further into this ostentatious cave that he has the _nerve_ to call an office.

The expression doesn’t leave his face as he resumes his seat, and you’re starting to wonder what on Earth is _happening_ right now when he grabs your hips and unbalances you, dragging you into his lap.

Okay, so _maybe_ there was some cooperation involved, because if there hadn’t been, you probably would’ve just awkwardly fallen onto his face, instead of straddling him, which is where you _currently_ are…

 _Crap._ You’re currently straddling the _God of Lies,_ in his private, _high-security-clearance_ office, on _company_ time. All of these things are very, _very_ bad.

“This is bad,” you whisper.

“Yes,” Loki replies, and the smile finally drops, replaced by a look that can best be described as _wicked._ “Yes, I’m afraid this is _very_ bad, mortal.”

Your breath catches in your throat; those words _shouldn’t_ do anything to you, but they do, and you squirm in embarrassment. His hands on your hips prevent your escape, and you quickly come to realize that squirming in his lap is a _terrible_ idea, because it seems to be encouraging him.

(And if you’re being _completely_ honest, it’s encouraging you, too).

One of his hands leaves your waist to tangle in your hair, and then his lips are on your neck. “I was on a mission,” he breathes. “I missed you.”

He _missed_ you? You aren’t entirely certain what to make of that, and you don’t have much time to consider it before the slide of his tongue along your jugular makes you lose your train of thought.

His hips rock slightly, and you freeze, terrified to move. “You’ve started wearing skirts more often,” he whispers. “Since our little tryst in the break room, you’ve worn one every single day.”

“How -”

“Surveillance footage.”

That should be absolutely, positively terrifying, but it’s strangely kind of… _flattering,_ almost, to know that your otherworldly magical would-be seducer is keeping tabs on you even when he’s out _Avenging._

“And I know why,” he continues. You really wish he’d stop speaking with his mouth against your neck - it’s doing terrible things to you, and it’s becoming more and more difficult not to simply give in and _move._ “It is because you loved the feel of me between your thighs, and you wished to encourage an encore.”

 _He’s so full of himself,_ you think, both immensely irritated and embarrassed. But he also isn’t entirely _wrong._ “No.”

“Yes.” The grip on your hips tightens, and he guides you to rock against him. It feels too _good_ to resist, and you hesitantly decide to just go with the flow - you may not know what you’re doing, but _hell,_ it seems like _he’s_ enjoying it.

You know you _definitely_ are, even though you know this whole thing is probably going to come back around and bite you in the ass.

_“Good girl.”_

The whispered praise should probably outrage you, considering the smug bastard who’s saying it, but it sends heat speeding through your veins, instead. “I’m not.”

“No?” You can hear the smile in his voice, can feel it in the press of his mouth against your throat, shuddering as he bites down gently - the guy apparently has the neck obsession of a freaking _vampire._

Unfortunately, you’ve always found vampires to be kind of sexy. You just can’t win.

Loki breaks away and actually _looks_ at you then, a piercing gaze that makes you worry he can see into your head. Maybe he can; it would explain how he seems to know to push all of your buttons in _exactly_ the right way. “A _bad_ girl, then.” His voice is rough. “A _very_ bad girl.”

A startled huff escapes you as the words - horribly patronizing as they are - send something coiling and building in your center. There’s a pressure building with each drag against his arousal, and you feel desperate for release, so you’d better either get up and run off to the ladies’ room now to handle this on your own or -

But then your mind goes blank, because his hand is up your shirt and pushing underneath your bra, his other hand on your hip quickening the pace of your desperate grinding, and in that moment you don’t really care if Tony Stark himself walks into the office, because you’re so _close_ and -

_Bliss._

Beautiful, white-hot bliss bursts across your senses, and you feel like you’re falling though space. Blinking slowly as you come down from the high, you realize that there’s a hand clamped over your mouth.

There’s also a persistent knocking on the door. Loki is grinning from ear to ear.

The blood drains from your face - how long had someone been at the door? And how… how _loud_ had you been?

“Loki?” The voice on the other side of the door sounds impatient. “Loki, it’s Pepper. You’re late for the team meeting. Again. I’m not gonna keep coming to get you like this, I’m not your mom.”

He stands abruptly, and you slide to the floor in a graceless heap, still feeling boneless and a little fuzzy. “Just a moment!” he calls out, and then he winks down at you. “Feel free to stay there until I return, darling.”

Then he rounds the desk and you hear the door open and close, holding your breath until the pair of footsteps trail away. You press your forehead against the smooth wood, cursing him, cursing your own terrible taste in men, and most of all, cursing the fact that some part of you is horribly disappointed that he’s gone.

 

* * *

 

You manage to avoid him for another week after that; it seems like something important is going on at the Tower, something that no one has bothered to mention to those with a _low security clearance,_ and Loki seems to be gone more often than not.

Really, you should be grateful, but in all honesty, you’re frustrated.

And you can’t stop dreaming about him, which is _really_ starting to impact the quality of your sleep. You’re running on coffee even more than usual.

Another Friday rolls around, and you’re at work even earlier than usual - partly because you’re still telling yourself that it’s best that you avoid the God of Lies as much as possible, and partly because you have so much actual work to do that you might as well just sleep in your cube.

Almost no one is at work this early, which is nice, and you head to the break room to get a pot of coffee started when you notice something _abnormal_ going on outside. You step towards the windows slowly, your mind struggling to process the bright flashes of blue and purple light warping into existence in the middle of thin air, not a hundred yards from the Tower.

Then you see something appearing, something metal and decidedly un-Earthly, and your instincts finally override your sluggish brain; you turn and run as fast as you can, because whatever is happening now is something that is definitely _far_ outside of your job description.

It’s the fastest you’ve ever run in your life, and you make it almost halfway across your floor before all hell breaks loose.

You feel the explosion before you see it, a sharp punch to your back that sends you flying, though you’re surprised, in an odd, detached sort of way, to find that you don’t actually _feel_ anything. You _do_ hear the crash as the glass gives way upon impact, however, and you are suddenly faced with the heart-stopping realization that twenty-two stories is a long, long way to fall.

_Loki._

Numbness begins to take over then, and your vision goes with it, glass and metal and light blurring together in a bright, meaningless haze as you plummet towards the ground.

And then something crashes into you, knocking what’s left of your breath away, and the nothingness wins.

 

* * *

 

The first thing you hear as the nothingness recedes is your name, ringing loudly in your ears after what felt like an eternity of silence.

Opening your eyes, you see only white, bright and stark and empty. Then, as your eyes adjust, you realize that it’s a ceiling, and that you’re in a bed.

A _big_ bed, it looks like. Not _your_ bed.

There’s your name again, called out in a teasing sing-song, and you turn your head towards the source and groan; you knew it would be _him,_ just from the voice, but you’d been praying that you were hallucinating.

“Welcome back to the waking world, mortal.”

“Where am I?” It would be _nice_ if it’d come out forceful and demanding, but _no_ \- all you can manage is a really pitiful-sounding wheeze.

“Stark Tower, of course. My chambers. Though, technically, you are considered a ‘missing person.’ Presumed dead, actually.”

He says it far too pleasantly, and your stomach churns. _“Dead?”_

Suddenly panicked, your mind trying frantically to make sense of everything, you shove away the covers, struggling to sit up. The shirt you're wearing is loose and grey, and you are _one-hundred-percent_ certain that it isn’t what you were wearing the last time you came to work.

You’re also pretty sure that it isn’t yours at all.

And then your eyes trail lower, and your cheeks heat as you realize that you’re wearing a pair of solid black boxers, and those _definitely_ aren’t yours, no matter how much you try to rationalize away their existence.

 _Your bra is gone._ He’s seen you naked.

Anger curls in amidst the fear and confusion in your chest, and your fingers dig into the comforter. _“What_ did you _do?”_

“I _really_ expected more appreciation. Mortals these days are so _ungrateful.”_ Loki sighs and rolls his eyes, and at least you’re too confused now to burst into tears, which is the stage you were at about ten seconds ago.

“I saved your _life,_ girl,” he continues. “With the state you were in when I caught you, modern Midgardian medicine would’ve done _nothing_ for you.”

You take a shaky breath. Then another. “What?”

“Exactly what I said. Allow me to show you.”

Then he tugs up the hem of your shirt, batting your hands away as you try to keep it in place, exposing your bare belly.

 _“This,”_ he says, pressing two fingers against a short, pale scar midway between your left rib and hip, “is from a piece of shrapnel that you must’ve caught in the initial explosion. Rebar, to be precise. I can show you the entry wound on your back, if you’d like me to fetch a mirror.”

You shake your head, feeling ill.

And then his splayed hand slides up until it’s resting just below your breast, which he mercifully leaves covered - oddly gentlemanly of him, all things considered. “These ribs were broken. Every single one. Three on the other side, as well. A cracked clavicle… well, I could go on all morning, but I’m sure you have the gist of things.”

Trembling, you place your hand over his own, just to reassure yourself that it’s _real_ and that he’s solid and you’re _alive._

“I’m afraid that there _is_ one scar on your face that I could not entirely heal, also.” Loki gives you an odd smile, brushing his thumb across your eyebrow with surprising gentleness. “But we all have our scars, don’t we?” Then he laughs, taking his hand away, and you’re surprised to find that you miss his touch. “I think it adds a hint of roguish charm.”

“Is that... all? You healed me?”

He catches the implication at once, and he scoffs, ruffling your hair. “Darling, I don’t mean to offend, but even if I were so inclined, you were in a _horrific_ mess when I first brought you back here. And,” he adds, leaning in worryingly close, “I am not _quite_ that wicked.”

Cheeks flushed, you fall back against the pillows, wishing you hadn’t asked.

“You had an adverse reaction to the healing spell, as well,” he says cheerfully, reveling in your shame, “and vomited everywhere. It was _quite_ disgusting.”

 _“Oh, God.”_ Even though the trauma from the impact hadn’t killed you, the horror of Loki’s words might. And he just wouldn’t stop talking, a stupidly-pleased, smug smile on his face.

“Yet here I sit, an veritable angel of mercy, answer to your prayers. You _were_ thinking of me as you fell, weren’t you, mortal?”

“No,” you mumble, scarlet-faced and woozy.

He tsks, shaking his head in mock-pity. “Oh, dear. It seems that in all of the chaos, you must’ve forgotten that you cannot lie to me, so allow me to remind you: I am the _God of Lies.”_

“Then maybe I was. Maybe.”

Loki grins, and your heart skips. “And now,” he says, “I do believe that this is the part where, as the consummate villain, I demand your virtue in exchange for your salvation.”

You blink up at him. _He’s out of his damned mind._

Apparently that’s exactly your type.

“But you already saved me,” you point out carefully. “So it’s kinda too late for any of that.”

“Ah, I suppose you are right.” He feigns a thoughtful frown. “Then, perhaps this is the part of the story where, as the _selfless_ hero, I am rewarded with a kiss.”

 _Idiot,_ you think. _Why are you playing these games with him? The guy just basically admitted to kidnapping you!_

Instead, you manage to croak, “I think that sounds fair.”

And as his lips press against yours for the first time, you consider the worrying possibility that maybe you’re out of _your_ damned mind, too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this one got away from me and ended up a good bit longer than originally intended (aka MoA doesn’t know how to stop). All of your likes/comments/reblogs mean the world to me, so thank you from the bottom of my happy little writer heart!
> 
> Here's the post on [Tumblr](https://maiden-of-asgard.tumblr.com/post/174878975041/freefall)


	4. Spiral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does it count as being kidnapped if the guy who’s got you hidden away in his apartment just saved you from a dramatic, terrible demise? And does it count if you never really left Stark Tower at all?
> 
> And do you even want to leave?

In stories, the first kiss is usually some sort of breathless, overwhelming thing - something that feels so utterly  _ perfect _ that it makes the whole world spin. 

You find that it’s actually true. 

You  _ also  _ find it incredibly embarrassing to realize that this is his first time kissing you, despite everything  _ else  _ he’s done to you, and you wonder if that’s a bad sign. Or maybe this is a good sign. 

It definitely  _ feels  _ like a good sign. 

Loki breaks away, and you fleetingly wonder if you’re any  _ good  _ at it, but if his expression is anything to go by, you’re going to go with  _ yes.  _

His fingertips are stroking the bared skin just above your hip, and you’re finding it incredibly hard to concentrate as you both watch them trail closer and closer to the waistband of the boxers you’re wearing. 

“Wait,” you protest weakly. “I have… I have  _ questions.” _

He huffs and sits back, but he doesn’t seem actually  _ angry,  _ just irritated, so you take that as a sign that it’s okay to continue. “Were there other… casualties?”

“Yes. Quite a few, though not as many as you might expect from such a decisive attack. It was mainly contained on a few levels of the Tower, and many of the employees had not yet arrived.”

“Why didn’t you save them, too?”

“I am  _ flattered _ that you think so highly of my powers, child, but as it happens, practically resurrecting someone from the grave is something that even  _ I _ find incredibly draining. I slept for the first three days you were here.”

_ “Three days?” _

“Yes. It has been…” He cocks his head to the side for a moment, frowning in thought. “I believe it has been five days, actually, since the incident.”

Your voice reaches an unusually-high pitch as you cry,  _ “Five days?” _

Loki winces slightly, his lips pressed together in a thin line. “Yes,” he snaps, pinching the bridge of his nose, “and if you keep up this wailing, I might consider throwing you back out of the window myself.”

_ Okay, so he doesn’t like shrieking. Make a note of that.  _

He actually looks kind of rough, come to think of it, and you try to be subtle as you examine his features. Dark circles under his eyes, a few small scratches on his face, skin even paler than usual…

“Hey,” you say impulsively - you might as well be impulsive, you reason, since the man’s already healed you with his weird god-powers and put you in a spare pair of his boxers - “are you feeling okay?”

“No. I feel dreadful.”

“Um… where have you been sleeping?”

Because it looks like he  _ hasn’t  _ been sleeping. 

He jerks his chin towards one of the two doorways. “There is a couch, in my living room. When I sleep.”

“Oh.”

There’s an awkward beat or two of silence, and Loki gives you that increasingly-familiar look, the one that says  _ ‘this mortal’s definitely crazy.’ _

You very deliberately flip back the edge of the covers beside you. “I need to go to the bathroom,” you say, flushing. “And water. And then maybe we could sleep some more? If you want to… join me?”

_ Oh, man. _ That was a rough finish. Now he’s giving you an even weirder look. Maybe it would be better if he  _ did  _ throw you out the window. 

But instead, Loki just nods, a strange, almost-cautious expression on his face. “Alright, mortal.”

 

* * *

 

Mercifully, you made it to the bathroom on your own, and after splashing some water on your face, you now feel  _ slightly _ less gross. Apparently being in some kind of magical healing-coma for five days doesn’t leave one looking quite as lovely as Sleeping Beauty would lead you to believe. 

If you weren’t afraid you’d collapse and have to have Loki rush in to rescue you, you’d risk a shower. 

Although, he’s clearly already cleaned you off at some point, and he’s  _ also  _ clearly seen you naked, so you tell yourself that you might as well go for it. Wouldn’t it feel nice?

_ Tomorrow, _ you decide.  _ I’ll worry about trying to shower tomorrow. _

Because right now, the God of Lies is sliding his lean frame under the covers right beside you, and that’s a big enough worry all on its own. Your mind races: how is this gonna go down? Are the two of you going to do that sharing-a-bed thing where you carefully space yourselves evenly apart, a pillow or two thrown in between for good measure? Or maybe he’ll commandeer most of the bed and shove you to one side?

_ Nope.  _

It turns out that Loki - former-supervillian,  _ insufferable _ God of Mischief  _ Loki _ \- is a cuddler. He rolls you onto your side and drags you back against his chest, his arm snugly pinioning you in place. 

_ Well, crap,  _ you think, mind completely blown.  _ He’s spooning me. Loki. The god. I’m Loki’s little spoon.  _

And even though you’re panicking and a little overwhelmed, you find that having his long, heavy form curled around you is actually weirdly soothing, and it doesn’t take long for you to fall back asleep.

 

* * *

 

You sleep surprisingly well, and Loki is still snuggling you close when you wake up, which is… bizarre, honestly.

Bizarre, but  _ nice.  _

“Hey.” 

He doesn’t budge. 

You try again, tapping on the arm that’s wrapped around you. “Hey, Loki. Wake up, please.”

The god groans, and you feel a pang of guilt, but you’re  _ also _ feeling a pang of hunger, so you wiggle slightly to jostle him into the waking world. 

“I’m awake,” he mumbles, his tone surly. 

_ Not a morning person, I see.  _

His grip loosens slightly, and you turn to face him, trying to ignore just how  _ close  _ he is. And how… surprisingly  _ cute  _ he looks, all bleary-eyed and sleepy. It’s incredibly disarming, and you almost forget what you’d been trying to ask him. 

But then your stomach growls helpfully, and you blush as an amused smile pulls at his lips. “Hungry, little mortal?”

“Starving.”

“I suppose it  _ would _ be a shame to let you starve, after all this effort.”

“I agree.”

“But I  _ am _ going to kiss you first.”

You blink up at him, heart racing. “Okay.”

It starts gently, his lips barely brushing against yours. But the next thing you know, his hand is up your shirt, you’re both breathing heavily, and Loki’s halfway on top of you. When he breaks away for a moment, you glance at the clock on the nightstand - it’s been twelve minutes. 

_ Twelve minutes in heaven.  _ You’ve entirely forgotten about your hunger. If starving means you get to make out with Loki longer, then  _ damn _ it, you’re just gonna starve. 

Your stomach isn’t as amorous as the rest of you, however, and it rumbles impatiently. Sighing, Loki gets to his feet. “Food,” he says. “Right. Wait here.”

_ Where else would I go? _

He brings you chicken noodle soup and a cup of yogurt - an interesting combo, but you aren’t complaining. You eat quickly. Maybe a little  _ too _ quickly, because you feel uncomfortably full. 

Yawning, you fall back against the pillows, suddenly exhausted. “What happens now?”

Loki watches you carefully as he licks his own spoon clean, then waves his hand, and your dishes simply  _ vanish.  _

_ That’s a neat trick.  _

“Well?” you prod. 

“I could keep you here, as my  _ dirty little secret. _ Wouldn’t that be  _ such _ fun?”

_ Oh, God, _ you think. That  _ might _ actually be fun… it’s definitely got your heart pounding. “I  _ like _ my job,” you manage to whisper. “And I don’t want people to think I’m dead.”

“Ah. I suppose I should return you to the land of the living, then. How disappointing.”

“I guess so.” You hesitate for a moment, then ask, “So, how are you going to explain this to Mr. Stark and everyone else? Me suddenly reappearing alive? And you being missing for five days?”

He scoffs. “I haven’t simply  _ vanished;  _ I’ve been checking in periodically. Everyone thinks that I was wounded in the attack, which is technically true. As for  _ you,  _ darling, I’m sure that it will surprise no one to learn that I’ve stashed my little lover away while I healed her grievous wounds.” 

_ Lover? _

_ Ah, _ there’s the familiar threat of impending hyperventilation again. “Is that what I am?”

“Yes. Or at least, you  _ will  _ be.”

“Oh. I see.” You wish that you’d been able to say that in a voice that was a little more measured, or even maybe a bit  _ sultry, _ but the best you can manage is an embarrassed sort of squeak. 

“But I do so  _ love  _ the notion of keeping you here, trapped and vulnerable…” His sigh is dramatic, and you realize that he’s playing one of his games; the guy clearly loves to keep you on-edge.

“Can we go now? I’d like to call my family. They’re probably losing their minds from worry if I’ve really been declared a casualty. And, no offense, but I’d kind of like to have a… well, a  _ human  _ doctor check me over.”

It’s probably the most you’ve ever said to him, and you shut your mouth, feeling self-conscious and hoping that he’s not  _ too _ offended. 

But really, how similar is an Asgardian to a human on the inside? What if he didn’t put everything back in the right place? You don’t want to just find out weeks from now that you’re missing like a kidney or half your lung or something. 

Loki looks annoyed.  _ Predictable.  _

“If you  _ insist,”  _ he says. “I think that a shower is in order first, however.”

“A shower?”

“You look like something the wolves have dragged in, girl.” You squint at him in confusion as he peels back the covers - is he just messing up an Earthly expression, or has this dude  _ actually  _ had pet wolves?

_ You know what, that isn’t really all that surprising.  _

He scoops you up into his arms, and you instinctively wrap your arms around his neck, fearful of being dropped. “Come along,” he says. “You will thank me.”

“It doesn’t seem like I’ve got much of a choice.”

“No, I suppose not.”

Once you’re in his bathroom, he sets you down on the countertop, then immediately begins pulling off his clothes. Your fingers curl around the counter’s edge and dig into the marble. “What are you doing?”

“I need to assist you,  _ obviously.  _ You are under my care - what if you collapsed and drowned? I would feel so  _ terribly _ guilty.”

“You -” Your grip on the countertop tightens as you flounder for words, your skin burning in mortification. “That’s not necessary.”

Loki cocks his head as he pauses with his thumbs hooked in the waistband of his boxers. “I do not understand,” he says. “We both know that I have already seen you unclothed, correct? And I did nothing untoward.”

“So you  _ say.” _

He grins. “On my honor, I swear it. Besides, you  _ want  _ me. You’ve made that  _ explicitly _ clear.”

_ Crap.  _ What can you even say to that?  _ “No, Loki, you definitely misinterpreted that whole grinding-on-you-til-I-came incident. Totally not interested in you. Nope. No way.” _

Yeah, that’s not gonna work. 

“So I must ask,” he continues, “what it is, exactly, that you fear so greatly?”

_ I don’t want to be just a one-night-stand to my superhuman antihero crush.  _

You can’t actually say that to him, can you?

“I don’t… I guess I just don’t know what you want from me.”

Now there’s some genuine confusion in his expression. “I want  _ you.  _ Was that not clear?”

_ Crap.  _ Your face feels like it’s on fire, and you stare at the shiny tile floor, because the big stupid  _ tease  _ is still standing there with his underwear in mid-descent. “I mean… just…” Are you actually  _ choking?  _ It kinda feels like it. “Just this once?”

“Ah, I see.” When you glance back up at him, you find a slightly condescending smile on his face. “No. The human mind is such an  _ odd  _ thing. Why would I go to such effort to hunt down my very own little mortal and then let her go so easily?”

_ Great. I put my heart out there and he’s mocking me.  _

But then, at the same time… it sounds like Loki’s looking for something  _ long-term,  _ which is both totally unbelievable and kind of… exciting? Flattering?

“I thought you were just in it for the thrill of the hunt.”

“Oh, I still  _ fully _ intend to hunt you down, girl. Over and over, until you accept that you are wholly, irrevocably  _ mine.” _

And then he stalks towards you - even in the bright, relatively small space and with him in nothing but underwear,  _ stalking  _ is definitely what he’s doing - and you scoot back so quickly that your butt almost falls into the sink. 

_ Way to go,  _ you think.  _ Smooth as ever. Fantastic.  _

“How about- ” Your voice is noticeably high-pitched from nerves, so you clear your throat and try again. “How about you get in, and I join you?”

Loki’s standing over you now, regarding you with a puzzled frown. “What does it matter? The end result is the same.” 

You can’t answer - you don’t know what to say, and he searches your face, confusion slowly replaced by a look of wicked delight. “Could it be that the very  _ idea _ of me undressing you is so overwhelming, mortal? Does your desire  _ frighten _ you?”

Well, you’re definitely not going to answer  _ that,  _ either. Especially because it’s  _ true.  _

Taking a deep breath, you decide to just go for it - you’re a grown-ass woman, after all. You’re entitled to some adventure in your life. Showering with the God of Lies is a pretty big adventure. Right?  _ Right.  _

Internal pep-talk completed, you stick your arms straight up in the air, and Loki’s brow lifts. “Come on,” you mumble. “Before I change my mind.”

“I’d be delighted.” His smile is blinding, and then your top is gone, whisked away impossibly-fast. You cover yourself with your hands as Loki grasps your hips and slides you off of the counter, and you’re already second-guessing everything, because when you brush against him, he is  _ definitely  _ turned on already, and the whole situation is kind of overwhelmingly intimidating. 

Except,  _ you’re _ already turned-on, too, and that side of you is apparently a  _ lot _ more bold than your normal self. So bold, in fact, that you dare to drop your hands and wrap your arms around his waist. 

You have to tilt your head back to make eye contact, and you do, because his eyes are honestly a little hypnotic, his heated stare making you feel  _ slightly _ more at-ease. His large hands slide under the waistband of your borrowed boxers, and once he’s pushed them past your hips, they drop to the floor. 

Swallowing nervously -  _ now or never -  _ you hook your fingers into his waistband and return the favor, though your movements are far less graceful. 

His eyes crinkle slightly, the tiniest hint of a smile cutting through some of the intensity.  _ “Breathe,” _ he says. 

You breathe. 

Loki carefully extricates himself from your grasp and leaves you standing there awkwardly, going over to the shower and sliding the door open. He reaches inside, and you hear the spray of the water begin to beat against the tile. “Coming?” he asks, and then he steps inside, the door sliding closed behind him. 

_ Well, crap.  _ Now it’s your move. You aren’t entirely certain that you  _ can  _ \- it kind of feels like you’re frozen to the floor. 

But you could also run away, and you guess that’s what this is about, right?

He’s giving you a chance to run away. 

Taking another deep, steadying breath, you step forward and reach for the handle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments & love keep me going, so thank you guys so much! <3 Apparently I can’t help but slow-burn the heck out of every story I try to tell, so I’m no longer sure how long this is going to be... hopefully you’ll be happy to hear that!


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